Don't Stop For Me
by DirtyPuzzle
Summary: Harry Potter has been through so much, too much. All he's got now is Edward "Teddy" Lupin, and he's not about to let anything happen to the kid. When a not-so-dead Death Eater decides to take Harry down with him, insanity of epic proportions ensues. Because who else besides Harry Potter would wake up to see a room full of dead people?


**I know, I know, I've got too many fics going right now, but this has been on my mind for a while, and these are some of my favorite fics to read, so I kind of had to write one. All of my other fics that are in the works will be updated, but** _ **If Promises Could Be Kept**_ **will be the priority, as it has been.**

 **Warning: this will get depressing, so if you don't want to read mentions about physical abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and coarse language, then this is not the fic for you.**

 **On with** _ **Don't Stop For Me**_ **...**

 _"Fear becomes a self-fufilling prophecy. Thinking that there is something to be avoided manifests something to avoid." —Vironika Tugaleva,_ The Love Mindset

One

As he looked over the rubble that was once Hogwarts, Harry Potter took a second to stare at the stripped, scorched, and wasted landscape. The castle was in ruins, the grounds were burned and barren, and even the Quidditch pitch was nothing more than a pile of twisted wood and steel.

The people were the worst, though. Everyone was dead on their feet, swaying dangerously now that the adrenaline had worn off, and not a single person had come out of the final battle unscathed. Many were injured, but far too many were critically wounded, and Madam Pomfrey was trying her best to reach as many of those people as possible. The majority, however, were already dead by the time she got there.

As people rushed around him, Harry stood numbly in the middle of it all, completely forgotten in the chaos. He knew it was only a matter of time before people approached him to thank him, or offer apologies, or to catch a glimpse of their 'savior'. Ha. What a joke.

Smoke clogged his nostrils and made his eyes water, but he didn't pay any attention to it. He was numb. It was as if everything around him was part of another reality separate of his; he couldn't process everything that'd happened, and now that there weren't any pressing survival concerns he was about ready to pass out.

"Harry!"

He turned at the voice, immediately recognizing it as Hermione's. As she got closer, he could see her puffy red eyes and anguished expression that finally pulled him out of his stupor and sent him into panic. It could only be one thing: Ron.

"Harry!" she shouted frantically, already having latched onto his shirt and beginning to pull. "It's—it's—" but she couldn't finish, opting to just yank him toward wherever her destination.

It didn't matter. Harry could already feel the dread and panic settling in, and while Hermione was devastated at Fred's death, there were only two people that could make her so frantic, so desparate, so unraveled. He sped up his pace, stepping over rubble and dead bodies alike in his attempt to reach Ron that was quickly becoming more and more panic-induced.

 _He's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead,_ he chanted to himself over and over. Each time made him more and more sure he was wrong, more sure that his best friend in the entire world was gone. Harry didn't know if he could take it.

As soon as Harry saw the body, he turned to the side and vomited. Ron was most certainly dead, but it wasn't clean like an Avada Kadavra, no. It looked like someone had used a cutting curse to his guts and a blasting curse to his head because his intestines were spilled everywhere and his head was caved in. The blood pooled at their feet, coating everything in the vicinity, and turning the ground a sick, dirty red color that indicated he'd been dead at least fifteen or twenty minutes. Some of it had begun congealing and the air stank of iron; the sight made both Harry and Hermione empty anything that could've been in their stomachs.

Hermione turned away, unable to look any longer, but Harry couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. It was sickly mesmerizing, and his sleep-deprived, grief-shattered mind just couldn't comprehend what, exactly, was in front of him. He couldn't stop staring.

 _Fred, Ron, Remus, Tonks... How many more are dead because of Voldemort?_ Harry thought viciously. It felt like the ones closest to him were cursed to suffer some horrible fate. First his parents, then Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, _Ron..._

Footsteps came up behind him and someone's hand on his shoulder finally brought him out of his trance. He glanced up to see George Weasley staring at the gruesome remains of his youngest brother. His one remaining ear was the only thing that Harry could focus on, as George was beginning to shake. He'd lost two brothers in the same day to the same madman. Harry averted his eyes, not having any words to offer the Weasley. He was sure that there would be plenty of tears once the rest of the red-haired family found there way here.

And suddenly, the numbness receded completely and Harry felt unbearable rage boil in his gut, sending liquid fire through his veins like he'd been injected with speed. It was too much; he was so _fucking pissed off_ that he slammed his fist into the nearest standing piece off wall over and over and over again. He shouted in unbridled rage as he pounded his fists, his feet, his body into the stone again and again. He couldn't bear the loss and grief and guilt that had been festering in his chest like a disease, destroying him from the inside out. He'd always dealt with unwanted emotions by expressing them as anger, and now was no different.

Eventually, Harry calmed himself down enough to walk away, away from the scene that would live in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

It didn't take long to run into Minerva McGonagall, and Harry approached her carefully, knowing everyone was still way too tense to be safe. Her severe bun was in disarray and she looked downright haggard. Her robes were ripped and covered in dirt, but that was no different than anyone else there. When Harry reached her, he said, "It's finally over, isn't it?"

McGonagall sighed and closed her eyes briefly, tilting her head to the sky. "Yes. Thank Merlin, it's finally over."

Something struck Harry then, something that he hadn't thought to ask McGonagall yet because of the battle. "Does Andromeda have Teddy?" he asked.

McGonagall furrowed her eyes in confusion, as if he wasn't sure why he would ask. "Why wouldn't Tonks have him?" she said.

Harry stomach dropped. What had happened to Teddy? Tonks said that she'd left him with her mother because she couldn't stand not to fight beside Remus. He wouldn't be able to bear it if Remus' son had been killed in during the battle or hunted down by Death Eaters.

"Harry, did you not know?" McGonagall said quietly, her voice slightly kinder as if that alone could soften the blow she was about to deal. "Apparently Andromeda's body was found among the dead. I don't know where Teddy is, but I'd ask Madam Pomfrey. I doubt Andromeda would leave him at home alone, so she'd be the most likely to know."

He nodded stiffly, but he couldn't believe that he'd already failed as a godfather. Teddy was supposed to be partly his responsibility, and now he couldn't even find him. The kid was only _one month old_ and Harry might've gotten him killed. If he couldn't find Teddy, he knew he would never forgive himself.

Madam Pomfrey was treating patients in the Great Hall where bodies were strewn about in various stages of treatment. Everything was cleared away to allow people to be brought in or carried out, and the entire hall reeked of body odor, urine, and smoke. The medi-witch in question looked dead tired, wavering on her feet, with her robes chucked for a more sensible set of Muggle-like scrubs. She was running around like chicken with its head cut off trying to heal as many people as she possibly could, trying to save as many people as humanly possible. The screams of kids and adults alike getting bones rebroken and set, _sectumsempra_ gashes stitched, and burns healed echoed off the high ceiling like a symphony of agony that everyone could hear but no one could decipher. Harry picked his way through the aisles of patients before he ended up in front of Madam Pomfrey.

"Is someone else injured?" she asked briskly, pointing to a relatively emptier corner of the hall. "Put them over there." She turned to go to the next victim.

Harry caught her arm. "No, that's not it. Have you seen any babies around? Andromeda, Tonks, and Remus were among the confirmed dead, but Teddy's nowhere to be found," he said, desparation coloring every word. He wrung his hands, hoping beyond hope that Teddy Lupin was not dead or worse.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened and she said, "Is that who that child is? I found him left behind in the medical wing before the battle even started and had him moved." The witch looked relieved and gestured toward the Head Table, telling him that Teddy was behind there. Harry thanked her and dashed off, intent on getting his godson back. It didn't matter how young he was, he promised Remus and Tonks, and he wasn't about to let Teddy grow up without anyone. No child deserved that, and if he had any say in the matter, Edward Lupin would not be alone like he had been.

True to Madam Pomfrey's word, the infant Edward Lupin was in a baby carrier behind the Head Table to keep him away from the bulk of the injured. He was sleeping peacefully, his currently red hair plastered against his forehead, and contentedly sucking his thumb. It was the picture of innocent; Teddy knew nothing of what was going on around him, but could sleep blissfully as if everything was right with the world even when it was falling apart at the seams and ripping itself to shreds. Harry picked the child up and Teddy stirred but didn't wake.

 _I'm all you have now,_ Harry thought regretfully. _But I won't let anything hurt you._

The problem now was that Harry was carrying a baby through the rubble of a battlefield, and, while he didn't know very much about taking care of infants, he was fairly certain that it wasn't safe at Hogwarts. He wanted to help the cleanup process, but Remus' son took priority over that, and the only available option was to take Teddy would be 12 Grimmauld Place. Since Sirius had named Harry his heir, it was Harry's house now, and it was the only place that wasn't destroyed or hostile. With that in mind, he needed to talk to Hermione.

Laying Teddy back in the baby carrier, Harry picked it up and left the Great Hall. Hermione was probably still with George, and he really needed her advice. Besides, she would most likely love a distraction, and he was seriously out of his element. He'd never been a normal kid anyway, and had no good example or frame of reference for how he should take care of Teddy, especially as an infant.

The trek across Hogwarts' grounds made Harry glad that Teddy was asleep. It wasn't as if the baby would remember it, but, nonetheless, it was a horrendous scene. Not to mention that just because he wouldn't actively remember it, didn't mean it wouldn't be there. Harry couldn't remember his parents' deaths all that much, but when he was close to a dementor, he could see the scene clearly. It was unlikely, but Harry would rather not chance it. As soon as he saw Hermione, he raised the arm not holding Teddy in the air to catch her attention. Just as he was about to shout out, he heard a voice from behind him.

"See you in hell, Potter."

Because Harry was holding Teddy's baby carrier, he couldn't get to his wand in time to intercept the unknown curse that was hurtling toward him at frightening speeds. His mind panicked and his already exhausted body tensed in anticipation of the spell, but the only thing he could think was: _not Teddy._ He cursed his horrible luck that seemed adamant on destroying him and everyone around him. He thought of all the people that gave their lives for him, and he hated the fact that now an innocent child not even two months old was going to be dragged into the middle of a conflict he didn't belong in. So with no other options, Harry turned his back to the curse to protect Teddy, hoping with all his heart that Hermione or the Weasleys or _someone_ would raise his godson, and that Teddy wouldn't be left alone.

As Harry felt the curse rip painfully into his back and he screamed in agony, he wished that, for once in his life, he could be safe. That he could wake up without the worry that his friends would die, or he would die, or Voldemort and Death Eaters would kill more innocent people. That he could take care of Edward Lupin without the threat of stray Death Eaters taking or killing him.

His magic burst from him as he fell to the ground, his back on fire. It curled around him and Teddy before finally, _thankfully_ , Harry passed out.

x.X.x.X.x

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office reviewing the upcoming school year's attendance lists as the early morning sun rose in the east. He wanted to have an early start to his day so that later that evening he could attend Hogsmeade's annual parade that took place before the beginning of term. Almost all Hogwarts students came, and most of their parents did, too. Albus prided himself on going since most students didn't have the opportunity to meet or talk with him during the school year. Not to mention that many Hogwarts parents were friends of his or friends with his family.

So when an instrument on his desk began vibrating violently enough to shake the tabletop, he was surprised. That particular gadget of his was meant to detect the state of the wards around the school, and would sit dormant if everything was fine, glow slightly if someone was leaving the wards, and vibrate if someone broke through them. The intensity of the vibration coincided with the amount of magic that was used to crack them. For it to be reacting so violently, an incomprehensible amount of magic must've been used.

The Headmaster leapt to his feet and headed straight for the Great Hall. Now that he was aware of the disturbance, he could feel the foreign magical signature pulsing throughout the first floor, but was concentrated in the Hall.

What he did not expect to find, however, was a boy that looked no older than a sixth year bleeding out on the floor, holding an infant in his arms as if his life depended on it. Albus Dumbledore had seen a great many things in his lifetime, but this was a strange addition. Fortunately for the boy, Albus was a composed man, and didn't hesitate to immediately levitate the newcomer so that he could be brought to the medical wing. Albus also picked up the infant, obviously not about to leave him on the floor.

Poppy was in the medical wing sorting through her potions stores when Albus finally made it. She jumped in shock when she saw the state of the boy and instantaneously pointed to a free bed, already gathering potions.

"What in the name of Merlin happened?" she demanded, waving her wand before swearing furiously.

"I don't—" the Headmaster began, but was cut off by the medi-witch.

"Help me turn him," she instructed as she reached for a salve on the tray next to her. "His back is what I'm worried about. He'll bleed out if I don't close that wound up in the next few minutes."

Albus did as he was told and watched as Poppy tried, and failed, to get the gash to close. He quickly realized why, and Poppy confirmed his suspicions as she ran to get different equipment. "It's the _sectumsempra_ spell," she shouted, still swearing. "I can't heal it with magic."

She came back with a tray consisting of stitches, a needle, foreceps, Muggle antiseptic, rolls of gauze, a syringe of distilled water, and medical tape. During the stitching process, she repeatedly had Albus cast the _scourgify_ charm to clean away some of the blood, allowing her to see at least a little better. Luckily, Poppy had perfected her stitches in the First Wizarding War and was one of the most efficient medical wizards when it came to dealing with things the Muggle way.

Neither of them paid attention to the time, but once Poppy was finished, she sat back in a chair next to the boy's bed and sighed, not even bothered by the blood staining her gloves. She looked up at Albus and said, "This boy is extremely lucky. Not only did the spell miss his spine, but also his aorta, both of which would've killed him long before I could've treated him. From what I could tell, nothing too important was damaged, and I was able to suture everything well. Had you brought him to a healer that didn't have intimate knowledge and experience with Muggle healing, he would've died before they could've closed the wound."

Albus sat down opposite her and showed her the baby. "This boy just appeared in the Great Hall with this infant. I truly have to idea where either of them came from. Are there any clues to who he might be?"

Poppy nodded as she stood up to clean the equipment and her hands. "I can get a more detailed report of his medical history once I've cleaned up here, and once I'm sure he's stable I'll be able to check for any forms of identification. If you give me an hour, we'll at the very least have a more complete look into his history and why he might've been injured in the first place, " she said.

While Albus waited, he took care of the infant. Oddly, the child hadn't stirred since he arrived, which was odd for such a young child. Albus put him at no more than a couple months old, and with all of the activity, it seemed strange that he didn't wake at all.

True to Poppy's word, within the hour she had a detailed account of the older boy's medical history, age, and any other issues besides the large gash that he'd received recently. She found heavy symptoms of the _cruciatus_ , among other dark curses, and spelled potions for nerve damage directly into his stomach. There were several fractured bones, including a couple of ribs, and pretty severe magical exhaustion. Looking at his history, it accounted for broken bones, lacerations, concussions, welts, long-term malnourishment that had affected his growth, burns, more instances of the _cruciatus_ , and even Basilisk venom. The magically-oriented injuries dated back to around eleven-ish, which would coincide with starting his first year at Hogwarts, while the more traditional injuries dated as far back as three and four years old. Some were old enough that she couldn't even date them accurately. The most curious was a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. And while the boy looked no older than sixteen, he was actually, according to an age spell, very close to eighteen. He was already of magical majority.

Once Poppy relayed this to Albus, he conjured a more comfortable chair, knowing that the ensuring conversations would be long and unpleasant. "Did he have identification or anything that would give us a name?" he asked wearily.

"Not a thing. He did, however, have a wand," Poppy replied tersely. She handed it over for the Headmaster to inspect.

As soon as he saw it, Albus was certain he'd seen it before, though he couldn't place where. From what he could tell, it was holly, but other than that he couldn't be sure. It looked to be eleven or twelve inches long. While the Ministry could weigh wands, he didn't have those kinds of tools at his disposal, though it would bug him until he could figure out why this particular wand was familiar.

"How long until he's conscious?" Albus asked. As much as he pitied this young man, he still had to know where he came from and how he bypassed Hogwarts' wards.

Poppy huffed but said, "Probably within a few hours. I gave him potions to speed up his recovery, and although his back will take quite a while to heal, it won't prevent him from waking up. I gave him pain relieving potions, but I didn't sedate him. He was already quite unconscious when you brought him in here."

The Headmaster nodded in acknowledgement and rose from his chair. "If you would, Poppy, could you handle the infant while I investigate our mystery man's manner of arrival? I would imagine that when he wakes up he'll want to see the child."

"Of course," she replied. As the old wizard left the ward for his offices, she picked up the child and conjured more comfortable sleeping arrangements. Now all that was left was to wait until the young injured man woke up.

x.X.x.X.x

The first thing that registered was: _Merlin, does my back hurt._

The second thing that registered was: _what the hell happened?_

As soon as Harry was semi-aware, it seemed as if everything came rushing back. Teddy, trying to find Hermione, and the not-quite-dead Death Eater cursing him before blacking out. He groaned as the unbearable pain in his back flared in his mind, but the more pressing concern was Teddy. He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage it with his back. He pried his eyes open to find a very, very familiar ceiling. One that he'd spent quite a long time looking at in the past. He was in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. The same one that was destroyed in the final battle.

 _What?_

"Ah, I see that you're awake, Mister...?" an easily recognizable voice inquired from behind him.

But Madam Pomfrey knew his name. Why would she ask it? And how was it even possible that he was in the Hospital Wing? Why wasn't Pomfrey still treating the injured in the Great Hall? What in Merlin's name was going on? All these questions whirled through Harry's head, but his mind was so fuzzy from potions and pain that he reactively answered the medi-witch's question. "Potter. I've been here enough that you should know my name," he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Madam Pomfrey, however, seemed absolutely shocked. "Excuse me? Your last name is Potter?"

Finally, Harry's head cleared enough that he got control of his mouth. "Of course. Who else would I be?" He narrowed his eyes, not sure if maybe someone was tricking him, although the only people that would want to do that were Death Eaters, and most of them died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Not to mention that there was absolutely no reason to impersonate Madam Pomfrey or heal him if this involved Death Eaters. He could clearly feel the stitches in his back now that he was more aware.

The large doors to the wing suddenly opened, and a grandfatherly voice that put Harry on instant alert said, "It seems you've finally woken up. I must say, I was rather shocked at your entrance my boy."

Harry saw red. How _dare_ they impersonate Dumbledore. How _dare_ a bunch of Death Eaters try to torture him with one of the few people he'd come to care about, that he saw _die_. He went for his wand, only to find he didn't have it. Instead, he turned toward the imposter and snarled, "Who the hell are you? If you wanted something from me, next time you shouldn't impersonate a dead man. You don't have the right to even say his _name_ , let alone act like him."

The gobsmacked expressions he received were even more insulting.

"Why would I be dead?" the not-Dumbledore asked, rubbing his long beard.

Harry sneered, something that he'd finally picked up from years of seeing it from Snape. "I saw it with my own eyes. If you wanted to coax answers out of me, then you have to be the most moronic group of Death Eaters I've ever had the displeasure of meeting." His verbal sparring had gone up a few notches, too, it seemed.

Not-Dumbledore made a sound of acknowledgement from the back of his throat and said, "I don't think we're on the same page here. Would you at least give me your name?" From his tone, Harry assumed he was trying to get him to confirm something, but Harry couldn't imagine what, so he answered the sarcastic way.

"Harry-fucking-Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, at your service. Would you rather be cursed into oblivion, hit with an Avada Kedavra, pushed off the Astronomy Tower, or disembowled? Because the second I find a wand, I can grant any of those requests with pleasure."

Not-Madam Pomfrey gasped at that, obviously scandalized. Harry snorted. As if he cared what a bunch of Death Eaters thought of him. He had much more colorful vocabulary up his sleeves, and wouldn't mind loosing some of it, but suddenly something much more important struck him: Teddy. "Where's Teddy?" he demanded, again trying to sit up but biting his tongue not to cry out at the pain.

For a second all he received were blank stares, but Not-Dumbledore seemed to understand quickly. He instructed the medi-witch to get the infant, and for a moment Harry was shocked that the Death Eaters would let him have Teddy. He assumed that they would've already killed him, or at the very least threatened to harm him if Harry didn't cooperate.

When Not-Pomfrey handed Teddy to him, he didn't care that he was in the tender care of Death Eaters. He had to protect the kid with any and all tools at his disposal, and he would rather die than let anything harm him. He would not fail Remus and Tonks, and he would not be a horrible godfather. It was his job to make sure Teddy made it out of this alive. He cradled the infant in his arms as best he knew how and ran a hand over Teddy's soft tuft of hair. This was his godson, and Harry couldn't be happier that he was okay.

A throat cleared to bring his attention back to the situation, and Not-Dumbledore regarded him coolly. "Is there a way you could confirm my identity? Something only I would know?" he asked.

"What was your sister's name?" Harry shot back. No one but Dumbledore and Aberforth would know that, and the only reason that he did was because the Headmaster told him personally. A bunch of random Death Eaters would have no idea.

Not-Dumbledore's eyes widened considerably and he replied quietly, "Ariana. Her name was Ariana."

"I... I don't understand," Harry whispered, his voice wavering. It had to be the real Dumbledore, but then that begged the question: where the hell was he?

"I think I know what might've happened," the old wizard said. "Are you familiar with the multiverse theory?" Harry shook his head, so Dumbledore continued.

"For those who investigate it in both the magical and Muggle world, it's been theorized that for every decision, another dimension in the multiverse makes a different decision. There is an infinite number of theses parallel dimensions within the multiverse, and from what I've managed to gather, I believe that somehow you've passed into this dimension from another. Because—" Here he paused. "—there is another Harry Potter here, and he is only a sixth year."

 _This is so impossible,_ was all Harry could think, but before he could say anything else Dumbledore kept on going.

"Until we can find a way for you to get back, you should probably just stay with your parents, and I've taken the liberty of fire-calling them—"

"No!" Harry shouted, interrupting the Headmaster. He couldn't take it, and he _definitely_ didn't want to see James and Lily Potter from this—this dimension. He'd never even met his own parents, and he couldn't stand the thought of them not even knowing him. He would much rather stay at Hogwarts in the Gryffindor dorms then see an alternate version of himself or James and Lily. Merlin, he couldn't even think of them as his parents.

Dumbledore smiled apologetically at him. "They're already on their way, and I've informed them of the basics of your situation, although I wasn't sure how to explain the child," he said.

Harry opened his mouth to protest further when, once again, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened with a bang. In came two people that he never thought he'd see alive: James and Lily Potter. They looked older than in the picture he had of them, which was obvious, but they were still just as others had described to him. Watching them, he couldn't stand the concerned and confused stares they were giving him, so he averted his eyes and focused on the potions Madam Pomfrey was preparing for him, and Teddy, who was finally beginning to wake up. (Harry assumed that his Madam Pomfrey gave the kid a small amount of potions so he didn't cause any disruption or harm while she couldn't watch him.)

As he took potion after foul-tasting potion without a wince, Madam Pomfrey helped him to sit up so she could change his bandages and do some cleanup on his wound. He grimaced at the pain in his back, but counted himself lucky that he wasn't dead and, therefore, didn't see a reason to be dramatic about it. Once the bandages were off and the stitches were there for all to see, James and Lily gasped and Dumbledore stiffened, obviously not used to seeing something so severe on a seventeen-year-old. Harry couldn't see it, but he could feel it and it was definitely one of the worst injuries he'd received in a while.

"What happened?" Lily asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

Harry shrugged as best he could without interrupting Pomfrey. "A not-so-dead Death Eater that wanted to avenge Voldemort decided he could be the one to kill me off for good," he replied. It really wasn't anything new, and he _had_ already died once that day, so...

"Then it's settled," Lily announced, putting a hand up to stop the protests that were already forming in Harry's mouth. "You'll be coming home with us once you're released. We have a spare bedroom that you can use." Her tone brokered no further argument, and James seemed just as adamant. Harry was simply tired.

Madam Pomfrey finished the bandages quickly and Harry laid back down, thankful for the painkiller potions he'd been given. It was going to be a pain in the arse to heal his back completely, which was a little consolation since that meant he could postpone his stay at the Potter's house. Hopefully Dumbledore could find a way for him to get back to his dimension before he had to take the Potters up on their offer of lodging. Thinking about home got him thinking about all the people that were killed and all the people he left behind, and he jerked himself upright, wincing at the pain he felt even through the numbing painkillers.

"Do you have any ideas about how I can get back?" Harry demanded, his voice almost pleading with Dumbledore.

The Headmaster shook his head and said, "I don't really know how you got here in the first place, so it'll take quite a while if I do find a way to send you back. Why are you in such a hurry?"

Harry growled low in his throat, clutching Teddy just a little bit tighter. "At the very least I'll miss my friends' funerals, and at the worst I'll have left behind the few people I still care about." He glanced down at Teddy and couldn't help but think of Remus and Tonks as tears burned hot behind his eyes.

"Funerals?" James asked quietly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Swallowing audibly in an attempt to push the emotions back, Harry whispered, "My best friend, his brother, and my godson's parents. At the very least—" he choked back a sob "—at the very _least_ I have to go to their funerals."

He was too young to have gone to his parents' funeral. He couldn't go to Cedric's. And Sirius never had one because he died still branded as a traitor and a mass murderer. He was never allowed to properly grieve anyone, even Hedwig! For once he wanted to be able to say a final goodbye. He wanted to be there for Hermione and Neville and the Weasleys. He wanted _so badly_ to break down and cry, something he hadn't done since he was five and his uncle said in not so many words that crying equaled either more time in the cupboard, less food, or punishment.

A high-pitched wail broke the silence. It startled Harry badly and he looked worriedly at Teddy, who'd woken up completely and was crying loudly. The problem was that he'd never had to take care of an infant, and had absolutely no idea how to do so beyond checking the kid's diaper, which he did, and rocking him some, which didn't help.

"He's probably hungry," Lily offered. She'd sat down in a chair to his right and her red hair was pulled into a messy top bun. Calling for a house-elf, she asked for a bottle of baby formula that she handed to him. "Test the temperature on your hand by dripping some of it. If it's too hot it'll burn him."

Harry did as he was told and found that it was the correct temperature. As soon as the bottle was in his mouth, Teddy was pleasantly sucking away, his crying long forgotten. After he'd drank about half, Lily told Harry to stop and burp him, which took a few minutes, but was accomplished. He continued to feed the infant until the bottle was finished off and another round of burping ensued.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I don't know anything about babies and I thought I was going to be helping out his grandmother." The _but now she's dead_ went unspoken, but he was pretty sure everyone got the gist.

"Will you raise him then?" James asked from his position next to his wife.

Harry nodded. "He doesn't have anyone else, and I swore to his parents that I'd take care of him no matter what. I couldn't dodge or deflect the _sectumsempra_ that screwed up my back because I was carrying Teddy and didn't want him to get hurt."

Silence reigned for a few minutes as Harry thought back to everything he'd done for his friends. He'd gone to every length, every opportunity to keep those he cared about safe by putting himself in the line of fire, and yet too many of them still died. He shut his eyes as he thought about Ron, the tactless prat of a best friend that was the first person that really gave a shit about him. The youngest Weasley brother could be infuriating and envious on a bad day, but he was still there when shit hit the fan. Even when he was fed up and exasperated and angry, he still helped Harry out when it mattered.

They'd sworn to each other that they'd make it out alive. Ron, Hermione, and him had all sworn to make it through the Battle of Hogwarts, to finally put Voldemort where he belonged—six feet under—and get on with their lives. Why was Harry the one to live? Why, after all the bloody times he'd almost died, had _he_ been the one to see his friends and family with their skulls bashed in, or their bodies ripped to shreds by a vengeful werewolf, or the light fade from their eyes as they dropped to the ground, an eerie green light gone as quicly as he'd seen it.

He was the one that was supposed to die. For Merlin's sake, he had been a _Horcrux_! If that wasn't a death warrant, he didn't know what the hell was. The guilt, the shame, the grief, they just all built up and festered, and they had been since Cedric's death. He was a curse to everyone around him, and now he couldn't even comfort Hermione as she grieved the loss of her friend and boyfriend, or help the Weasleys as they mourned the death of two of their family. He was stuck with a bunch of people who had _no idea_ what he'd lost, or how badly he'd suffered, and even if it wasn't intentional, they might as well have been mocking him.

 _Look,_ he thought viciously to himself. _This is how your life should've been. With a family, and people to give two shits about your wellbeing. This is exactly what you lost—something you won't ever have. These people are everything you wish you could be, and it's just your luck that you have to meet them face to face._

With tremendous effort he managed to surpress the tears that threatened to spill over, but he'd come to a decision. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I can't stay at your house."

Lily immediately began to protest. "Why not? You haven't anywhere else to go, and wouldn't you rather stay at home?" She looked hurt that he wouldn't want to stay with them, and Harry could hardly bear to turn her down, but he didn't think he would be able to hold himself together if he was surrounded by the family he'd never had and the life he had never lived.

"I really, _really_ can't," Harry pleaded, not able to meet James and Lily's questioning and hurt gazes. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut. "Please don't make me. I can barely take this, and I don't think I'll be able to take staying in your home."

"I don't understand. Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your family? I mean, you might be from another dimension, but you're still our son. You know us," James argued. _Why doesn't he want to stay with us?_

Both of them stared expectantly at him and it became too much. He couldn't do it. He _could not_ sit here with his parents' alter-egos asking why he couldn't stand to look at their faces. All of the emotions he'd tried to ignore since fourth year, or even before that, resurfaced and boiled violently under his skin. As he always did, he expressed this as anger. His composure utterly snapped.

"I don't know you! I _never_ knew you!" Harry shouted, sitting all the way up and ignoring his back. "I didn't even know your names or what you looked like until I was _eleven_! I'm looking at a room full of dead people. Of people that I witnessed die. Of people that cared about me. The only thing I knew about either of you for myself was how loudly you screamed as you died every time I'm close to a Dementor! You have a family, one that's alive and well, and I don't think I can meet your children. I can't look at the family that I should've had, that I've wanted my _entire life_. The kind of people that love you simply because you exist."

It took everything he had not to cry. To not break down right then and there in front of these people that should've been his parents. He could barely deal with the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, and this was making everything infinitely worse. It felt like a physical pain in his chest that throbbed with every breath. He bit hit lip as hard as he could to draw blood and distract himself just long enough to get himself under control.

Finally he wound down and felt the exhaustion creep over him. Madam Pomfrey came back in and shooed Albus out, telling the Potters that they could stay if they let him rest. As soon as he had his godson in his arms, he fell into a fitful sleep.

x.X.x.X.x

"What happened to him?" Lily whispered shakily, her voice barely audible. Dumbledore had left soon after Harry had fallen asleep, and now it was just her and James. She stared numbly at this Harry, this version of her son that was so broken and jaded.

She hadn't meant to upset him, but she had been a little hurt that her son, from another dimension or not, didn't want to stay in his own home with his family. At first, she wondered what kind of parents her and James had been for him to demand so adamantly for staying at Hogwarts, but now she knew the answer to that: they hadn't been. They weren't even in the picture, and as loathe she was to admit it, it made sense. He acted as if they were strangers when they came in, and even as she helped him with his godson, he was distant and way too polite.

Next to her, James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Voldemort," he said. "The First Wizarding War finished him here, but it sounds like him and his Death Eaters survived to wreak havoc on Harry's universe."

Lily scowled. She remembered all too well what the First Wizarding War was like. She'd been terrified for her family's safety, but the one time they'd been attacked by Death Eaters, James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter were all there to make sure she and Harry were okay. Not to mention that it brought Severus back to the Light. But there were so many people that lost their lives or worse, and she remembered when Dumbledore finally took the madman down.

"But why would Harry fight?" she asked, waving her hands around in frustration. "He's not even seventeen yet, so why would he be so involved in the fighting, even if we were gone?"

"I don't know," James muttered. "I just don't know."

It was true. She didn't know anything, and even if this wasn't her Harry he still might as well be her son, especially since he never even knew her in his dimension. And if she and James had died, that meant he didn't have any siblings. Lily wanted so badly to hug him and make everything better like she could with her youngest children, but she knew that that wasn't going to work. Truth be told, she didn't know if she would be any help in a situation like this.

Sirius, however, was another thing entirely. It was pretty common knowledge what good friends James and Sirius were, and if anything were to happen to both her and her husband, Sirius, as the godfather, would be the next best choice for custody. If Harry didn't grow up with her and James, then he must've grown up with Sirius. Maybe seeing him would help.

If she could just get Harry to come home with her. Lily was confident that he would want to meet his siblings, at the very least. Besides, what else would he do until Dumbledore found a way for him to go back to his own friends?

"James, what about Sirius?" she said. James gave her a puzzled look for a moment before catching on, his eyes widening.

He sucked in a breath. "Sirius must've raised him."

Lily nodded and gave a small, sad smile. "Him, Remus, or Peter. And although I don't even want to imagine Harry without us, one of them would've taken him in if both of us were killed."

They sat in silence for a while, just watching their would-be-son, if things had been different. Lily's heart ached at the thought of the things Harry must've gone through. It hadn't escaped her notice how professionally he was handling the large gash in his back, as though he'd had worse, had felt worse pain. Most people, his age or not, would be either screaming or in tears and all he did was wince. Not to mention that he'd taken a mortal wound at the end of a huge battle that orphaned his godson, killed his best friend and his best friend's brother, and almost killed him. He shook like he'd been _Crucio_ 'd a few times and had such a jaded look in his eyes.

Lily didn't know what to do or what to think, but she did know this: she _would not_ let this Harry be alone. She wouldn't fail him a second time, even if it hadn't exactly been her the first time. And from just a glance at James, she was sure that he agreed. Because if push came to shove, they'd fight for this Harry, if only to prove to him that they would never have left him behind willingly. She'd do this if it was the last thing she did.

And anyone who knew Lily Potter knew that when she had her mind set on something, she would _never_ give up until she got it.


End file.
